Night Beach (52 page)

boys.
Have
a
few
more
beers.’

Perfect.
Now,
I’m
back
to
where
I
started.

But
he
doesn’t
move.
Why’s
he
still
sitting
there?
Why
doesn’t
he
just
go?

Then
I
understand.
It’s
because
he’s
waiting.

And
that’s
the
difference
between
Kane
and
boys.
Kane
knows
how
to
wait.
Right
now

he’s
waiting
for
me
to
make
up
my
mind,
decide
whether
I’ll
go
back
to
an
empty
house

with
him.
And
he
won’t
help
me
decide,
because
Kane
doesn’t
work
like
that.
I
either

want
it,
or
I
don’t.

If
I
say
yes,
I
find
out
what
happens
when
you
get
what
you
want.

If
I
say
no,
he’ll
just
go
back
to
the
boys
and
have
some
more
beers.

I
lower
my
hands.
‘You
didn’t
say
anything
to
them,
did
you?’

‘Who?’

‘The
other
guys.’

‘About
what?’

The
derision
in
his
voice.
He
might
as
well
have
slapped
me.

I
make
a
noise
like
a
laugh.
‘Wow.
That
hurts.’
Blinded,
I
reach
across
him
to
open
the

glove
box,
accidentally
knocking
his
beer.

‘
Fuck.’
He
jumps,
grabbing
for
the
bottle.
‘What
the
hell
are
you
doing?’

‘I’m
going.
I’ve
got
to
give
something
back.
You
just
go
back
to
the
boys.’

My
scrabbling
fingers
find
the
doorknob
and
I
dump
it
in
my
lap,
then
I
lunge
forward

again,
because
Grandad’s
wooden
candle
holder
is
in
there,
too,
and
it’s
important
to

me.
I
wish
I
had
something
to
light
it
with,
because
I
really
need
some
love
right
now.

And
that’s
a
bit
different
to
what’s
on
offer.

Kane’s
leaning
back
against
his
seat,
swearing,
because
beer
is
soaking
into
his
jeans,
or

because
I’m
acting
like
a
mad
woman.
I
don’t
care.
It’s
a
relief.
I
am
sick
of
playing
games

where
you’re
not
allowed
to
show
how
you
feel.
I
don’t
have
to
play
anymore.
He
just

won.

I
pull
out
the
candle
holder
and
close
the
glove
box.
Then
I
scramble
out
of
the
car,

slamming
my
door.
I
run
across
the
bitumen,
reaching
the
path
to
the
beach,
and
start

trudging
my
way
through
the
sand,
tucking
the
candle
holder
into
the
back
of
my
jeans,

but
keeping
hold
of
the
doorknob.
The
wind
hits
me
hard
once
I’m
out
in
the
open,

blowing
my
hair
around
my
face,
and
it
doesn’t
matter,
because
I
can’t
really
see

anyway.

I’m
crying
too
hard.
Bawling
like
a
little
kid.

The
moon
is
out.
I
can
hear
the
wash
of
the
surf,
smell
the
salt.
But
I
feel
lost.

‘
Abbie.
’

When
I
don’t
stop,
he
grabs
my
arm
and
spins
me
around.

‘Aw,
shit,’
Kane
says,
getting
a
look
at
my
face
in
the
moonlight.
‘Come
on,
Abbie.’

He
pulls
me
against
him
and
holds
me
tightly.
And
there’s
something
awkward
about
it.

Like
he
can’t
stand
the
noise
I’m
making
and
that’s
the
only
way
he
knows
how
to
mute

it.
But
after
a
long
time,
maybe
because
I’m
quieter,
maybe
because
he’s
feeling
more

comfortable,
he
starts
stroking
my
hair.

And
it
does
something
to
him.
I
can
tell.
He’s
surprised
by
it.
Because
then
he’s
stroking

and
stroking,
as
though
my
hair
is
the
best
thing
his
hands
have
ever
felt.
And
he

murmurs,

‘God,
your
hair’s
soft.’

I’m
quiet,
except
for
the
occasional
shudder
in
my
breathing.
And
things
have
changed

direction.
Before,
I
didn’t
care
that
he
was
holding
me.
Now,
I’m
very
aware.

I’m
not
holding
him,
though.
I’ve
got
my
arms
crossed
on
my
chest,
barring
his
way
with

a
doorknob.

Kane’s
voice
comes
from
the
back
of
his
throat.
‘I
lied
about
my
ute.
It
still
drives
fine.’

‘What?’
I
ask,
hiccupping
on
the
word.

‘I
just
wanted
you
to
pick
me
up.’

‘Why?
So
you
could
be
mean
in
person?’

‘Yeah.
No.’
His
hands
stop
moving.
‘I
don’t
know.’

I
believe
him.
Kane
really
doesn’t
know
why
he
wanted
to
see
me.
I
think
that’s
why
he

gets
so
mean.

He
kisses
me
then.
Hard.
His
hands
tighten
on
my
hair.

Then
he
presses
his
lips
to
my
ear,
sending
electricity
shooting
through
my
body,
and
he

whispers,
‘
Come
home
with
me.
’

And
I’m
aching
for
it.
My
eyes
are
closed.
Does
it
matter
that
he’s
mean?

‘Can
I
ask
you
something?’
Kane
moves
back
abruptly
to
look
at
my
chest.
‘What
exactly

is
that?’

I
don’t
know
why,
but
that
makes
me
laugh.
I
pull
away
from
him,
wiping
my
eyes
on
my

sleeve.
Then
I
place
the
doorknob
in
his
outstretched
hand,
saying,
‘Don’t
be
rude,

okay?’

He
holds
it
up,
examining
it
in
the
moonlight.
‘Kind
of
hard
not
to
be.’

‘I
want
to
throw
it
back.’

‘Where?
Into
the
ocean?
Is
that
where
you
got
it
from?’

‘Yes.’
I
sniff,
rubbing
at
my
face.
‘Don’t
ask.’

Kane
glances
at
the
water’s
edge,
about
twenty
metres
away
from
us,
weighing
the

doorknob
in
his
hand.
‘Want
me
to
do
it
for
you?’

‘All
right.’

He
steps
aside,
throwing
the
doorknob
at
the
water
in
one
smooth
motion.
I
watch
its

arc.
It
sails
effortlessly
through
the
grey
light.
But
as
it
hits
the
water,
it
makes
a
sound

like
an
explosion.
And
the
impact
knocks
us
both
off
our
feet.

40

The
other
side
of
wonder

Kane
scrambles
to
his
feet
first,
and
as
I
stand
up,
he’s
grabbing
me,
shoving
me

backwards,
nearly
pushing
me
over,
saying,
‘
Go,
go,
go.’

But
I
already
know
from
the
noise
that
we
have
to
get
out
of
there.
Because
the
rushing,

sucking
sound
is
so
loud
it
hurts
my
ears.
And
I
shouldn’t
be
looking
back,
but
I
can’t

help
myself;
I
have
to
know.

The
doorknob
punched
a
hole
in
the
ocean.
A
hole
that’s
widening
rapidly,
water

gushing
into
it
like
a
waterfall.
It’s
reached
the
sand
already,
bleeding
towards
us
so

quickly,
that
I
can
hardly
function
looking
at
it.
It’s
so
dark,
that
hole.
A
great,
gaping

nothingness
that
hurts
my
eyes.
A
wound
in
the
fabric
of
the
world.

‘
Run.’
Kane’s
grabbed
the
back
of
my
hoodie,
and
he’s
reefing
me
backwards.
‘I’m
not

gonna
–’

He
doesn’t
bother
finishing.
Because
I’m
moving.
I’m
sprinting
as
fast
as
I
can
go,

slipping
in
the
sand,
jostling
against
him,
trying
to
gain
speed.
He’s
already
drawing

ahead
of
me
and
I
grab
for
him,
not
wanting
to
be
left
behind,
but
I
miss.

And
I
can
hear
it
right
there
behind
us.
Hear
the
rattle
of
the
sand
sliding
in.
It’s
as

though
someone’s
pulled
a
plug
on
the
world
and
now
everything
will
be
drained
away.

We’re
not
going
to
outrun
it.

It’s
created
a
vacuum,
and
I
can
feel
it
sucking
at
my
hair
and
clothes,
and
I’m
reaching

behind
me,
pulling
the
candle
holder
out
of
my
waistband
and
gripping
it
tightly.
I
look

back
again,
wanting
to
know
how
much
time
I
have
left.
What
I
see
makes
my
heart

stop.

I
scream.
And
then
I’m
sucked
over
the
edge.
Into
the
hole.
Into
the
maelstrom.

When
I
come
to,
I
think
I’m
dead.
Then
I
think,
at
the
very
least,
I
have
been
skinned

alive,
and
I
must
be
going
to
bleed
to
death.
Surely
all
that
sand
and
water
and
the
suck

took
my
skin
off.
But
no.
I’ve
only
lost
my
hoodie.
And
my
shirt.
My
bra
is
still
on.
And
so

are
my
jeans
–
dripping
wet.
And
I’m
still
holding
the
candle
holder,
I
realise.
My
hand’s

hurting.

I
pat
my
legs,
my
hips,
my
chest.
I’m
standing
up.

When
I
realise
that,
I
make
a
sobbing
noise.
Not
because
I’m
glad
to
be
alive.
But

because
I
wish
I
was
dead.
Now
I’ll
have
to
face
whatever
comes.

I
can’t
see.
I
can’t
see.
I
can’t
see.
Where
am
I?

But
I
know.
I’m
at
the
bottom.
I
fell
into
the
hole,
and
went
right
to
the
bottom
of
the

deep,
blue
sea.
I
know
where
I
am,
because
it’s
already
told
me.
In
the
exercise
book,
it

asked:
who
wants
to
cum
down
the
botum
with
me?

Everything
that
was
here
before,
the
night
beach,
was
an
illusion.
An
apparition.
A

mirage.
Pretty
pictures
to
make
me
feel
safe.
To
make
me
stay.

Because
down
here
there
is
nothing.
The
darkness
surrounding
me
seems
ageless,

impenetrable,
unknowable.
I’ve
passed
through
to
somewhere
beyond
the
universe.

This
is
its
ancient
soul,
the
quiet
place,
away
from
all
its
beats
and
rhythms.
And
my

mind
is
unable
to
comprehend
the
sheer
expanse
of
it.
It’s
as
though
I’ve
suddenly

blinked
and
found
myself
standing
on
a
tightrope
strung
between
two
skyscrapers.

I
am
paralysed
by
awe.
The
feeling
you
get
when
confronted
by
something
infinite
and

inevitable
and
indifferent
to
you.

Something
that
makes
you
realise
how
truly
alone
you
are.

That’s
when
I
give
in
to
my
rising
panic
and
I
scream
out,
‘Mum!
Dad!
Help
me!’
and

then,
‘Anna!
Anna!
I
need
you!’
and
‘Kane?
Are
you
here,
Kane?
Please.’
And
I
do
this

over
and
over,
until
the
words
turn
into
sobs,
and
I’m
thrashing
about
wildly,
hoping
to